


The Presence of Stendarr

by 4Silence



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 19:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18430238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4Silence/pseuds/4Silence
Summary: Galos Andrano might have been born a Dunmer, but he's about as Imperial as they come. Follow his journey of fulfilling a prophecy in which he doesn't even believe.





	The Presence of Stendarr

The newly fallen night was completely silent as Brother Jacobius held vigil before the fire of Stendarr. He enjoyed vigil assignments, and volunteered for them often. It was time alone in a world where he was almost never without another: at meals, at prayers, in the infirmary. But holding vigil, it was only him and the Divine to whom he had sworn his life. He sat there, watching the flames cast shadows throughout the chapel, surrendering himself to the silent space in which his Lord might speak. Some nights, some silences, made Stendarr seem closer. This night he seemed close indeed. Jacobius had heard Stendarr on two prior occasions, and this night had that same feel about it as did those other nights. Gazing into the flames, his breathing slowed, all his concentration fixed on his Lord. Stendarr was so very near...

A sudden pounding at the door shattered the silence. Jacobius found himself simultaneously concerned for whoever would so desperately need the services of the chapel on a cold winter's night, and exasperated by the interruption. He swung the door open, to find only a small crate filled with blankets, from which issued the softest, most pitiful cry he had ever heard. Quickly, he stepped over it into the street, trying to catch any glimpse of who might have left it. Down each side of Chorrol's long main road, there was no one to be seen. Whoever had set the babe there was simply gone. Jacobius returned to the crate and picked up the child within. A newborn Dunmer boy, clearly no more than an hour old – clean but clammy, his cord just freshly cut. He was crying softly, shivering even within the blankets. Jacobius untied his robe and slipped the babe inside, holding him close so that the babe could share his body heat. Slowly, the shivering stopped, and as the babe relaxed, he felt moist lips nuzzle at his left pectoral.

There were no new mothers in the chapel infirmary, so he went to the larder and found some of the goat's milk that had been delivered the prior day. Pouring a little into the smallest skin he could find, he rolled a scrap of clean, closely woven woolen cloth and stuffed it into the mouth of the skin. Tying it as tightly as possible, he turned the skin over. The woolen plug saturated, and milk began to leak out the end. It was a little faster than he wanted, but it would do. Returning to the hall, Jacobius set the skin by the fire to warm. Just as the babe began to cry again in earnest, he judged it ready. Sitting against the altar, he cradled the small Dunmer in one arm and nudged the woolen plug into the babe's mouth. The babe resisted the odd texture at first until he tasted the milk, and then began to splutter as the milk dripped through too quickly. But together the two of them found a balance, the newborn drinking an amount that surprised Jacobius, until his sucking slowed as he fell asleep from the exhaustion of the first few difficult hours of his life.

Jacobius set the milk aside and adjusted the babe onto his chest, freeing his arm. He leaned back against the altar, a certain mental exhaustion catching up with him. He felt an inexplicable feeling of a responsibility and devotion near to what he felt for Stendarr. He remembered the birth of his first niece. He had been twelve, and his sister had been through a difficult labour for many hours. He remembered the look in the eyes of his brother-in-law, as he had curled protectively around his wife and newborn daughter. He had never seen a look that devoted, that intense, in all his young life, and rarely since. But that look was what he felt now in the depths of his own heart. This night, the brother had been made a father.

He chuckled to himself a little. He loved vigils for the peace and reflection they provided, not for the adventure. He volunteered for vigil for the nearness to his god, as he had felt earlier in the night. When his meditation had been disturbed by the knock at the door, he thought that something had been interrupted, that he had lost an opportunity. But as he look back on the night, he realised something: the presence had remained the whole time.

Stendarr still felt near.


End file.
